


Knockout

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [27]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Violence, it aint really graphic tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Race's been picking fights lately, Jack is unamused





	Knockout

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't edit this. don't @ me

“You’se walkin’ funny again.”

Race glanced up from the article he’d been scanning and cocked his head, fixing the way he was standing every so slightly under Jack’s gaze. 

“Am I?” he questioned, cocking his head. Ignoring the sharp pain in his side he leaned back against the wall of lodging, fighting to keep his shoulders from tensing up. “Don’t see why I would be.”

Jack rolled his eyes, and Race ignored the way he was flipping through his papers with a little more force than necessary. “Y’know, if somethin’s goin’ on-”

A pair of rough hands shook Race’s shoulders then, and he jumped despite himself. “What the-”

“The kid’s fine,” Albert quipped, a light grin on his face as he pulled back, flicking a quarter he’d snatched from Race’s pocket in the air. “A little scrap now and then never hurt anybody.”

Race grimaced from the contact and reached out to grab his quarter. “Give it back.”

Albert started to mimic the whine in his voice when Jack stepped forward and snatched the coin mid-flip, stepping between the pair. “Scrap? What scrap?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Race looked at Albert with a look that he thought very clearly said ‘shut up’; apparently the sentiment didn’t carry over. 

“Last night,” Albert said, “he pulled Delancey offa Elmer, least that’s what the kid told me when they got back.”

Biting his lip, Race turned away from them both, the silence felt awkward and clumsy but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to break it.

Someone cleared their throat. “Uh, is everythin’-”

“S’fine, ‘scuse us,” Jack said tightly. 

Race looked back just in time to see Albert’s eyes widen as Jack grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the alley. He didn’t have the energy to muster up a grin, for Albert’s sake. 

“It ain’t that big of a deal, Jack.”

Jack had dropped Race’s wrist and was leaning uncharacteristically still on the wall opposite him. The lack of eye contact was what really making it sting, though. 

The silence continued and Race  _ knew  _ what Jack was doing, the silent treatment thing, had been using it for ages whenever he was really pissed at one of the guys. And what he  _ really  _ hated was that it was working, he felt himself squirming as the seconds passed. 

“C’mon,” he finally rushed out, “what was I supposed to do, huh? Let the kid get roughed up? How would that’ve been any better than what happened?”

Frowning, Jack finally raised his eyes. “You know that ain’t all that happened, Racer, this shit has been goin’ on for weeks, that ain’t some kinda coincidence.”

“I’ve been at the right place when stuff’s gone down-”

“Bullshit,” Jack cut off, raking a hand through his hair, “you’se been a newsies for years, and it ain’t any rougher out there than it’s been before, I know you’se lookin’ for it.”

Race felt the tiniest bit of guilt at that, Jack had a strange way of cutting right to the bone when he knew something. Pride held him back from giving any of that away, though. “How do ya even look for a fight, you think I’m settin’ kids up to get their asses kicked?”

“You know that ain’t what I’m saying, you know good as I do if you want a fight you can find one, ain’t hard at all.”

Race looked down, and when he looked back Jack had come a few paces forward. His face had softened a little bit and Race knew it was the tension the whole situation had making him think it, but he couldn’t help but sense pity there. 

“Stuff’s rough, okay, I get it,” Jack started, “we’ve all gotten pissed or whateva the hell sets you off-”

“It ain’t-”

“ _ But _ ,” he continued, sharpening his tone, “ya can’t go around and start shit to blow off some steam, alright? That’s how ya get picked up and I don’t want that for you, and I  _ know  _ you don’t want that.”

He looked sincere, and yet, without thinking, when he reached out to put a hand on Race’s shoulder he jerked away, hard too. And Jack pulled back, taking a very long sigh before even looking at Race again.

“Okay, well, if it happens again you sell with me.”

Race’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

Jack, who’s already gathered his papes and started for the street, shrugged, back to Race. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

For once, Race found himself struggling to snap something back, and with a jerk that send a sharp pang through his rib cage he started for the street. He’d gotten in plenty of fights without Jack knowing, the guy wasn’t his mother after all. 

“Carriage tramples commuters, street in panic!” Jack’s voice echoed from across the street and Race quickened his pace, feet guiding him in the direction of the bridge without thinking. 

And, for once, he didn’t make a single penny on the way there, nearly ripped his papes up, with how tightly his fists were balled around them. It had been like that a lot lately.

* * *

 

Race got shoved back hard, and the guy was in his face a second later. 

“What’s your problem?”

The guy was bigger than he was, and he had him blocked in the alley, if he wanted out it wasn’t going to be without some blood. 

Against any common sense he had left, Race shoved back. “Why don’t you just back off, huh?”

There was a half second where the guy looked like he could’ve laughed, and then Race was on the ground, ears ringing

“The hell you gotta say now?”

A foot connected with his jaw.

“Nothin’?”

His nose this time, and blood was dripping onto the pavement. He couldn’t get up.

“Yeah, that’s what-”

The kicking stopped, and instinctively Race pushed himself back, raising a hand to protect his face. Nothing came, and when he looked up his jaw dropped for the second time that day. 

Spot, who came from god knows where, had already half dragged the guy out of the alley, and slammed him in the face if the blood was any indication. 

He spat out something to the guy too, but Race’s ears were ringing too hard to make any of it out. By the time Spot had turned back around he’d struggled into a standing position, albeit leaning pretty heavily against the wall, but weakly offered a smile. 

“Got ‘im just before I made my comeback, Spotty.”

Narrowing his eyes, Spot rested his shoulder on the wall next to Race. He didn’t seem to register what Race considered to be a decent looking gash in his hand, and in similar fashion, was extremely calm after what had looked like a pretty violent scrape. It was off putting, really. 

“Looked like it.”

“Was ‘bouta really bring him down.”

“Clearly.”

They stood there for a second before Race felt a drop of blood fall off his chin and he remembered Jack’s promise. “Ah, shit.”

“What?” Spot asked, head cocked to the side. His eyes followed Race as he pulled himself off the wall and back to where he’d thrown down his face before the fight started. 

Limping, Race waved him off. “Nah, s’nothing, I just gotta get cleaned up ‘fore I get back s’all.”

“Why’s that? They run outta water in Manhattan?”

Race forced out a laugh, regretting it a second later as he clutched his side involuntarily.

Spot rushed a step forward, eyebrows knitted together. “Hey-”

“‘M fine,” Race said weakly. His eyes were screwed shut, and he flinched more than he would have liked when Spot laid a hand on his shoulder. “Really, I gotta be gettin’ back.”

When he stood up, Spot had moved to block him against the wall, and he was about to crack something about how Spot was looking for a fight now too when he got cut off. 

“Why can’t ya go back like now? Plenty of fights go down over there.”

“Ain’t no reason-”

“Seems strange.”

Race tensed again, for the second time that day, and squared his shoulders. “Don’t see why.”

Ever stoic, Spot shrugged, looking Race up and down for a second. “You’re lookin’ awful worse for wear, have for a while.”

“Funny,” Race said, “I ain’t seen you for a while.”

Spot snorted. “You see me more than most of my own boys, and I got people on the street, they see some stuff too.”

All the sudden the alley started to feel kind of small, and Race got very invested in the sound of the street. 

“Race?”

He looked at Spot and took a sudden step back, wiping at his bloody face against better judgement. “I-”

“Why’ve you been fightin’ so much?” Spot asked. He hadn’t moved an inch, and his facial expression was blank; it drove Race insane when he couldn’t pick up anything on the guy like that. 

“Look who’s talkin’,” he shot back, switching tactics. “I’ve seen you get in worse fights, and way more often too.”

“I ain’t you, though,” Spot said slowly, eyes showing something like confusion. “You don’t even  _ like _ fightin’.”

“So what?”

“Whaddya mean  _ so what _ ?” Spot raised his voice a bit moving off the wall to take a step closer to Race. “You’se walkin’ around lookin’ for some action, have been for a while, why?”

That choking feeling was clogging his chest again, and Race felt his fists ball up. “Doesn’t matter.”

Spot took another step forward, shoving him back this time. “Like hell it doesn’t.”

“Stop it,” Race gritted out. He could feel himself shaking and his jaw ached and actually, every part of him ached, so bad. And he pushed back.

There was a flicker of something in Spot’s eyes that Race couldn’t quite understand, and before he could do anything else Spot lunged forward. He had him against the wall in a second, he had about twenty pounds of muscle on Race, who was plenty beaten down already. 

“Stop,” he spit out, struggling weakly against Spot’s hold. Everything hurt and he wanted to move, just get out, and he  _ couldn’t _ . 

Spot didn’t move an inch. “What’s the matter with you, Race?”

The words rang through Race’s ears and he felt like he was talking to Jack or something and  _ fuck,  _ he just didn’t want to. 

“Look at me,” Spot growled. His fingers were curled around Race’s wrists an he could feel the bite of each nail in his skin. 

Something just, broke, then, like a pressure had been released in Race’s chest, and he stopped moving. A deep exhale wracked his whole body and when Spot let go of him he almost fell into his arms. He didn’t have the thought to be embarrassed, everything just  _ hurt _ . 

“Woah,” Spot breathed out, shifting under Race’s weight before bringing them both down to the ground. “Damn, I thought you were gonna take a swing at me or somethin’.”

Race hadn’t lifted his head from where he’d buried it in Spot’s shirt, and he  _ wasn't _ crying. That was something he was very consciously aware of, because he didn’t cry, couldn’t really anymore. He was just breathing, and it was hard. 

Spot didn’t say anything, while Race sat there, wordlessly breathing, almost gasping for air, his hands gripping the back of Spot’s thin shirt. 

Memories were flooding through Race’s mind, and he hadn’t been letting himself think about them for too long, but now he couldn’t stop them. It had been too close, he’d been too close to where it’d all happened and he needed a way to stop himself from thinking about it. Pain worked as good as anything, he’d discovered.

He was talking before he registered the sound of his own voice. 

“I was across the street from where I used to live, y’know? And I know he wasn’t there anymore, but I kept rememberin’ stuff I thought I couldn’t remember anymore, and I didn’t want to, y’know?”

He managed to lift his head then, and Spot looked down at him, expressionless again. 

“I think I do.”

Race nodded, picking at his nail beds idly before Spot pulled his hands back. 

“But ya can’t be gettin’ hurt to stop it, that don’t solve it,” he continued, “you’se gonna get caught up in somethin’ real bad if you keep that shit up.”

Race laughed hollowly. “That’s what Jack told me.”

“Yeah well, the kid’s gotta say something right every now and then I guess,” Spot said, loosening his grip on Race’s palms when he got a smile from that. 

Neither of them felt the need to say anything after that, and Race glanced at the entrance to the alley before leaning in a little bit toward Spot, who pulled away. 

“You’se covered in blood, and it’s still light out.” He clambered up and offered Race a hand, which he took. “Go home.”

“Still got papes-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout ‘em,” Spot cut in, grabbing the slimmed stack from his hand, “just go, let Kelly worry ‘bout ya like he always does, and get some sleep.”

Race was about to protest when Spot brushed past him, lightly checking his shoulder has he left the alley without looking back. Kid was a tease, he swore.

* * *

 

“Well, buddy,” Jack said, swinging an arm around Race’s shoulder, “these are gonna be a good couple weeks, eh?”

Rolling his eyes, Race shoved Jack off, almost pouting as they both started off down the street, papes in hand. “Whateva you say.”

He was looking down when Jack pulled him to a stop all the sudden, dragging him off to the side of the street. 

“Buy a pape, miss? My poor brother here ain’t eaten in days.” Jack even added a soft cough at the end, and Race nearly rolled his eyes despite himself. 

The woman Jack had stopped pressed a penny into Jack’s hand before taking the paper, and Jack maintained his weakened look for a few more seconds before breaking into a grin and ruffling Race’s hair.

“See? We’se gonna make millions!”

Race shoved him off again and was about to snap something back when Jack dragged him off, already spouting some bullshit about how hungry poor, beaten up Race was.

It was going to be a long couple of weeks. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it?? i cant tell if i do?? hmu with any thoughts or feedback you might have!!! leave kudos!!! i love yall!!!


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